


selective amnesia

by sirnando



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre-Canon, To An Extent, because i love that stuff, but then it's canon, emphasis on the angst for later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23284903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirnando/pseuds/sirnando
Summary: Tommy Shelby met a boy with no name before the war - spent only a few hours with him. Then they parted ways. End of story. No matter how difficult it was for Tommy to accept.10 years later he receives a telegram.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50
Collections: Peaky Blinders Prompt Fest - Spring 2020





	selective amnesia

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [PBPromptFestSpring2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PBPromptFestSpring2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Tommy & Alfie
> 
> What if the two met when they were younger? Perhaps enemy gangs? Feel free to make it modern or canon
> 
> \-----------
> 
> they are technically 23&25 on the canon timeline, but let's pretend that's still considered to be 'boys'. some aspects of this story are a bit idealized, because i did not really stay toooooo period-typical with the close-minded attitudes or trends so! just a disclaimer. also most of the story after this chapter is going to be canon-verse now so hope that's ok for the person who requested!! enjoy

It was Freddie’s friend who was hosting the gathering. Or, rather, a friend of a friend of a friend, and the event resembled a party more than the “humble gathering,” that Freddie had mentioned. But Tommy was always keen for any social setting—always smiling, always open, always chatty. He was very versatile, topic-wise. It turned out that having your nose buried in hundreds of books, light dim in his childhood bedroom, paid off when it came to connecting with people. It was this wealth and variety of knowledge that made others excited to talk with him, he liked to think.  _ So naive _ .

It was the summer, 1913. Whoever the friend was, their house would be repulsive come tomorrow morning, Tommy noted once they had managed to enter. Tens of people were huddled into a tiny living room, stacked up on the staircase, knocking over glasses of alcohol which made the floor beneath their feet sticky, the heat from everyone’s collective breathing causing all of the windows to fog. 

Freddie had been absorbed into the crowd—distracted by some guy who was attempting to chug a beer while upside down—which meant Tommy was alone, pressed up against the wall. Though he didn’t hold Freddie’s fascination with the scene against him—what else to do in fucking Small Heath than experiment with drinking positions, after all? He would be occupied soon enough anyway, discovered by someone familiar amongst the sea of faces.

-

He had noticed the boy staring, not too long after they had arrived. This particular detail wasn’t out of the ordinary; 23 years old now, Tommy had grown accustomed to gawking. Yet others tended to quickly tear their gaze away in embarrassment once Thomas finally realized they were looking. This one was blatant, persistent—smirking.

Their eyes met for a moment, but the expression on the boy’s face remained unchanged. Tommy broke contact first, startled by the directness of it all. He had never been very shy—usually prepared to carry all of his conversations—though his confidence had suddenly waned, butterflies now organizing a gathering of their own in his stomach. The boy would have to initiate the interaction this time.

“Quite the fucking ‘quaint gathering,’ isn’t it?” It did not take long.

Tommy nodded his agreement. “False advertising, if you ask me,” thankful that the noise concealed the slight tremble in his voice. He was being silly. This would be a conversation like any other.

The boy snorted at his sarcasm, easing some of the tension in Tommy’s throat.

He was handsome. Not stunning, but good-looking enough. Tommy allowed himself to evaluate these things freely. He and his siblings had been outcasts for a considerable portion of their lives, in some way isolated from the rest of the kids, branded as  _ poor Birmingham bastards _ ,  _ dirty gypsies _ . Never good enough. Until Arthur gained some muscle and a temper— _ intimidating _ —while Tommy grew into his disproportionately long arms and wide-set eyes— _ mesmerizing _ . So Tommy had personally allowed himself to experiment with the boundaries of his physical interests. Add to the ‘bizarreness’ he’d been forcefully labeled with—mold it into a challenge.

“What’s your name?” The boy had angled the top half of his body towards Tommy, hovering closer than before.  _ It was because of the volume _ , Tommy recited,  _ because of the volume _ . 

“Tommy Shelby. And yours?”

The boy shook his head no, a goofy smile developing. “It wouldn’t be any fun that way.” So he was one of _those_. The butterflies’ gathering exploded into a party.

“Then where in Birmingham are you from?"

“Not really from around here.” An unnamed boy from nowhere important. 

So why was he here, then? Birmingham was a bubble, a trap, where everyone knew everyone and never fucking left—rotted in the same dust you were born into. Granted, Tommy still had dreams of escaping, of tugging his siblings out of the mud after him, but they grew dimmer with each year.

The boy’s answer was straightforward: “I never do anything without reason.”

But it really was quite dreary here, he had to admit. None of the  _ manufactured flare _ that he’d been expecting. “Though there is one particular place that makes it seem like less of a shithole.” Perhaps his brash vocabulary when describing his home should have offended Tommy, but he was not wrong.

The implicit invitation hung in the air and Tommy faltered, if only to allow his excitement to simmer.

-

He should have notified Freddie before leaving, but he knew Freddie would forgive him—was obliged to after all those times he abandoned Tommy for some new girl’s bed.

The place was the roof of an abandoned building, located a few streets down. Lights from the city flickered, dancing to some silent rhythm—artificial stars, a reflection of the sky above. It was quite pretty, actually: an image of Small Heath that was left undamaged by its grime and rubble. Still not enough to compel him to stay.

“I found it by accident.” And he smiled in a way that suggested he was aware that it was a lie, but Tommy simply mirrored the expression, did not ask for elaboration. Appreciated this image instead.

-

No-name boy had immersed himself in as many tales as Tommy it seemed. Hours had passed since they arrived, the entire time brimming with their words, limbs demonstrating points animatedly. Every pause at the end of a sentence was quickly replaced with a new topic to discuss, voices growing hoarse.

Tommy felt his nerves buzzing in excitement. He had never met anyone else who had valuable additions to his arguments, someone who did not  _ Huh, never heard of that _ when he began citing obscure excerpts. His tongue was tying with all that needed to be said, asked, heard. 

“I’m going to get out of there, that’s the bottom fucking line.” The boy was rooted in a shithole himself—nothing to see, nothing to achieve. England did not differ too much, no matter where you found yourself. But Tommy found these similarities comforting—someone else was floating in the clouds of his daydreams alongside him. It was possible.

He was still holding his drink in his hands. It’d have gone warm by now, nasty, but he offered anyway. “No, I don’t touch it mate. I’m already fucked as it is.” And the boy tapped his index finger to his temple, eyes sparkling with laughter. 

-

“But it’s all gonna go to shit soon anyway, I can feel it.” They were watching the sun rise slowly above the smokestacks, legs flailing over the side of the building. Their stomachs were growling audibly now, but neither acknowledged the sound—the conversation remained fixed on them. It seemed the boy was in no rush to return to his mystery home and Tommy’s parents had always been more concerned with sparking a new argument than what parts of Birmingham their children were wandering about in.  _ No-name boy, nowhere to go. _

“What makes you say that?” Tommy liked to consider himself an optimist. He had already collected a fair number of horrid moments in this life, though he was always searching for glimmers of positivity to keep the rest of the family afloat. Was forced to do so, really. A horse race. A new postage stamp. Some coins found on the side of the canal.  _ This _ .

The boy shrugged. “I can just feel it.”

“Well it doesn’t seem too bad right now.” They turned to face one another, the shadow of a smile playing on Tommy’s lips, the boy’s eyes darting between Tommy’s mouth and the space between his brows.

They leaned in simultaneously, noses bumping into one another—a moment made temporarily awkward. “Eager are we?” 

Tommy chewed at his lip. The boy winked.  _ Come here _ a whisper, goosebumps lining Tommy’s spine as his chin was pulled gently forward.

He was a good kisser, or at least better than any Tommy had ever had, or maybe Tommy was simply—he was swimming in the feeling, suffocating but unwilling to gasp for air.  _ Don’t let this end. _ Let him pause within this frame permanently.

The boy sealed the gap between their bodies, one hand pressed into the small of Tommy’s back, the other curling fingers in his hair. Teeth clacking against one another. Hungry motions, curious hands sliding under shirts and across the fronts of trousers. It was all quick, sloppy, a thin layer of spit coating Tommy’s bottom lip and his lashes fluttering against the boy’s cheeks. He needed to kiss as much— _ touch _ as much—as he could, heart racing against some invisible watch. Desperate. Heavy. Over.

The kiss was shattered, Tommy drawing in a deep breath as the boy broke away, foreheads continuing to brush against one another softly. “Breathe, Tommy Shelby.” The name glittered coming from his mouth.  _ Thomas Shelby _ —more than a boy sculpted from decaying soil.  _ A king. _ For a moment it was true.

They were staring at one another, nearly cross-eyed because of the distance and shoulders still heaving. Complete silence—and then laughter. Incredulous. Euphoric. A conglomerate of the two.

-

The sun was beating down on them, clothes sticking to feverish bodies. 

“I’m going to leave now.” It was a statement, no reason to ask him to stay for longer because he was already rising, brushing off his pant legs. “But maybe you’re right Tommy Shelby, maybe it won’t be too bad.”

Tommy’s question answered cryptically:  _ Will I see you again? _ On the boy’s terms. On the days he was exhausted with everything else  _ going to shit _ .

Thomas stayed on the roof as he left. No goodbyes. Simply watching from above as he disappeared along the horizon, leaving Tommy with no name, no address—just the memory of his silhouette illuminated by the moonlight, the sweetness of his tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> hi thank you for reading + i hope you enjoyed!! let me know what you think and i can be found on tumblr @hardytcm xx


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